The Forrest City times., 1887-11-19

| Mrs. Grey; but the pain and disappoint ment on the beautiful young fac, seemed more than she could bear.
 "l would give my life twenty time. over if it could be diffefent," she said "Do forget me. I hate myself for the trouble have brought into your life Leave me now, for I have borne a | much as can bear. Do not come bacl to me ever again. Do not look so pitt fully, it unneryes me. Do not com, back to me. When these five years are over shall go away from England. shall go to America, and so pass com. pletely out of your lives. Forget me and all the trouble 1 have caused you. T Tears came into the dark eyes looking so wistfully at her.
 ''lt grieves me to the very heart,' said the duchess, "but must do as you wish"
 Something of reliof came over Mrs. Grey's face; she drew nearer to ths young girl.
 "You are a great ducness," shs said, ''and I am a poor prisoner; the distance between us is as great as great can be; will you for one moment bridge 1t overl It Is the last time we shall meet, the last time my eyes will look on face that has been like the face of an angel to me. May 1 kiss your face before we partT'
 As she listened to the plaintive words spoken with sad, sweet dignity, the duchess said to herself:
 "Whocver else she may be, she is cer. tainiy not my mothers maid; that is neither the voice nor the manner of a maid"
 She went to her, and clasped her arms round the graceful, fragile figure; tears were running down her face.
 ''I came to help you," she said, "and l am leaving you more anxious and dis tressed than ever. do not know what binds my heart to you, but something does; do not know why 1 love you, but l do love you with all my heart"
 Mrs. Grey knew; she knew it was that sweet subtle love between mother and child that speaks even when it is not understood.
 She, too, threw her arms round her daughter, and they stood for one min ute locked in a close embrace.
 ''I shall take the memory of that with me to my dying day." said the prisoner. "Go now, my dear; 1 have kissed your face, want no mors." For half a minute she was standing on the terrace at 0akcliffe, holding lit- tie Sunbeam in her arms, kissing the dimpled baby face and the rings of dark curls.
 "Go, my dear" she said, "I have come to the end of my strength. Good-byew
 "Good-bye :" repeated the duchess, but the words died on her lips, and she passed out of the cell with a keener and more bitter pain at her heart than she had ever known before.
 When she had gone, when the matron had locked the door and the prisoner was alone again, she realized what that interview had been. She fell on her knees with bitter tears, with passionate cries for Little Sunbeam" Little Sunbeam whom she had loved and nursed, the child for whom she had sacrificed her whole life, the child for whom she was willing even now to die, so that the brightness and happiness of her life might be secured. Little Sun beam who had loved her, whose voice had called after her, who had cried for her. who had fallen asleep in her arms. who had nestled to her breast, the love, the joy, the pride Of her life; how had she resisted her, how had she turned a deaf ear to all those entreatiss, those prayers, those tears? She had kissed her face, the same beautiful face that had lain on her breast, and the memory Of it would go with her to her grave. Little Sunbeam, whose tiny footsteps had been music to her ears. She had gone, she had passed out of her life, leaving it all dark, cold and bare.
 When the matron returned, bringing some work for the prisoner, she was startled at seeing her lying on the ground; she had fallen, and she lay silent and motionless where she fell. 1t was but the work of a minute to raise her. to send hurriedly for reme- dies, to lay her on the hard, miserable bed, she recovered soon, but the matron and the woman with her were puzzled at the continual repetitions of that cry for Little Sunbeam.
 The matron grew alarmed as the hours wore on. She called in the doc tor, she did everything that was kind for her; but the only words that fell from the patients lips were these:
 Do leave me; leave me alone to die."
 When she grew better and able to think, she began to wonder afresh how it would end. What should she do If Lord Stair came to see her; he would most surely recognize her, and then all would have been in vain. He would not spare her now, any more than he would have spared her years ago. He would denounce her, or he would leave her in scornful silence, hating her more bitterly than before.
 When she had gratifled the longing of her heart in going to live near her daughter, she had not foreseen this danger of meeting Lord Stair.
 She would not see him, let come what might.
 The matron was much astonished one day after these occurrences when number forty-four asked if she could see the governor of the jail, Captain Mayne. Of course her request was granted, and the governor looked with no little surprise at this thoughtful woman of whom he had heard so many strange things.
 "A perfect lady" was his first com ment. A beautiful woman with a story in her face" was his second. He bowed, and then felt astonished at him self: it was hardly the rule to bow to prisoners, but for the moment he had forgotten the prisoner in the sweet dig niiied woman.
 ..I am sorry to trouble you," said number forty-four, but want to ask a question"
 "I can answer any question you ask |" replied the governor.
 Am compelled" she said, ito re- ceive any visitors here against my will?"
 He thought for a moment, then an swered-"No; you are not"
 The prisoner bowed her head with gentle dignity:
 "That is all I want to know. l de- cline, refuse to see any visitors; can be compelled to see them against my will?"
 .,No," he replied again.
 "I am glad, 1 am thankful," she said, gently. s'I am dead to the world, and i do not want the ghosts from my past life to haunt me-"
 II understand" he answered; "you shall see no visitor-you have no excep- l.. l,a